


Hardly a Compromise

by KD writes (KDHeart)



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Flowers, Hospitals, M/M, sensible solutions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-07 12:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18410990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KDHeart/pseuds/KD%20writes
Summary: Isabella survives the assassination attempt and lives to offer a more sensible solution.[3x08 spoilers]





	Hardly a Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> Do I think Isabella's relationship with Ed was sudden and ridiculous? Yes.  
> Do I trust her taste in men? No.  
> Do I think her death was stupid? Yes. Yes, I do. Very much.

The wave of panic that washed over Isabella as her foot pressed uselessly on the breaks felt like ice burning through her veins.

She could hear the train coming and as time slowed down around her, she knew the collision was inevitable.

 

The day had started so well – she had one-upped the Penguin in what turned out to be an _actual_ romantic rivalry for her boyfriend’s heart, she had proven to Ed that she wasn’t afraid of him, despite his past, and she had indulged some of her darker fantasies. And, to be honest, she had had some really satisfying sex as a result of all that.

Now, it was clear that at least one of those achievements was coming back to bite her.

 

She wasn’t screaming – what good would it do? But her ears were ringing with a high pitched whine that could have been the train's. 

It didn’t really matter.

Nothing really mattered.

She was almost at the train crossing and so was the train and the breaks weren’t working.

Her foot twitched off the break in frustration and pressed on the gas as hard as she could.

At this point, she had nothing to lose.

There wasn’t enough space to gather much speed, but maybe…

 

The car burst through the barrier.

The jolt of the railway under the wheels marked the switch from terror to euphoria and now she _was_ shouting with joy. 

She had no clue how she was going to stop, but she’d think of something once she was clear. Maybe if she killed the engine…

 

The car spun out of control as the train slammed into the tail end of it.

 

The world was spinning, and her throat hurt, and her hands were clutching the wheel, trying to get it all to stop.

 

It did.

 

 

She awoke to the numb feeling of pain dulled by drugs and the stark white of a hospital room – only hospitals could make white walls so inhospitable. She was too groggy to make out anything else, but she suspected there were people there with her. Maybe doctors. She wasn’t sure.

 

They told her the impact happened on the passenger’s side. The car was scrap, but that was what saved her.

A few things were twisted, her right shoulder was busted and the right side of her face was turning all sorts of interesting colours. Her neck was in a brace for the next few weeks, as a precaution, and she was going to have her arm in a sling for longer than she would like, but all in all, she had come out of the collision relatively unscathed.

 

She told them she had panicked and accelerated instead of hitting the breaks. It was late and she had slept little the night before because of nerves.

It wasn’t hard to tell why the breaks weren’t working and no one seemed eager to look into it, so she did the sensible thing and kept quiet.

 

When Ed was finally allowed to see her, he came with his shadow in tow.

 

Oswald Cobblepot lingered in the doorway.

Through the haze of painkillers, he really did look like a penguin. Isabella tried not to smile at the thought. Her face hurt too much. 

Ed was holding her hand and stroking her hair and lying about how beautiful she looked.

She smiled and shushed him, and assured him the nurse had already brought her a mirror and she was impressed with the shade of purple half her face had turned. No need for lies.

And then she told him she should have had that coffee before she left.

(Oh, isn’t she a clutz? The heel of her shoe caught on something.)

And with every little lie, she could see Oswald turning a more attentive eye her way. 

He had gone from awkwardly standing in the doorway, to inching his way across the room until he was awkwardly standing at the foot of her bed.

She wondered if he was going to come closer. If he was going to put a comforting hand on Ed’s shoulder.

 

He had announced himself her rival days ago. But they were too old to play these games. 

The plan was taking shape, little by little, as she observed the stilted interactions between them.

Ed didn’t know yet about where she and Oswald stood in regards to him and if her plan were to work, she needed him to stay ignorant. She was certain Oswald shared her opinion on that, even if his motives were different.

She needed to act soon.

For now, it was enough that he knew she knew where they both stood.

 

Eventually, Oswald excused himself – the city won’t run itself, after all – and took Ed with him, after an elaborate verbal juggling act where she pretended she entrusted him into the Mayor’s care, to keep busy so worry wouldn’t overtake him, while actually making it clear that Ed was only leaving her side because she gave permission. Oswald played the concerned friend and even promised her he would make sure Ed eats.

 

The night was long. The neck brace was not helping making it any shorter.

The little sleep she managed to get was fraught with the sound of oncoming trains and the sound of tires screeching.

She spent the rest of the night dissecting the last few days.

Despite how quickly their relationship had blossomed, she loved Ed and she was certain he loved her back.

What little she had seen of the friendship between Ed and Oswald was dark and dangerous – something she hadn’t backed down from when she had first glimpsed it in Ed. Actually, after the initial shock, she had embraced it.

Oswald loved Ed. It was an obsessive, destructive sort of love. One that had no solid foundation, but had the strength of spider's web once it engulfed its prey. She would have devoured that one-sided obsession, had she found it within the pages of a book. Every single paragraph of their twisted story would thrill and delight her. 

She was willing to embrace the darkness for Ed. She was not the kind of woman to back down from a challenge.

Oswald was willing to kill for Ed. He had proved it. 

But she was not willing to die. Not for him and certainly not to prove some point.  

 

The next morning, Ed was there with flowers - an armful of white carnations - and a coffee that the doctors had confiscated - she was still on painkillers and didn't need the stimulants. 

They traded jokes and riddles and managed to make one nurse blush and scamper out of the room when she came by to check on her.

And then she made him promise that he wouldn't come over until the evening, and that he should have lunch with Oswald to keep him busy and stop fretting.

 

The day wore on with doctors and tests and more drugs.

She hadn't had time to worry or get bored, but she also didn't have time to plan.

 

In the late afternoon, just as she was drifting out of her first proper nap, she found she had a visitor.

She focused away from the yellow rose that was bobbing inches from her nose, to the person holding it. She wondered if Oswald had picked the flower on purpose, or if he even spared a thought for the possible meanings.

She gracelessly grabbed for it with her good hand and encountered less resistance than she expected, pulling it out of his hand. She placed it on her chest where she could smell it without having to keep her hand raised. The image this gesture created was deliberately morbid.

Oswald visibly swallowed his discomfort and quickly glanced away.

They both knew.

"What are you playing at, Miss Isabella?" he finally asked.

Her lips quirked into a sweet smile that made the right side of her face hurt.

"I'm sure you know, Mr Cobblepot, that I am an avid reader. Especially of romance and the darker side of human nature," she began, waiting for him to look at her again.

When he did, she continued: "I never liked romantic triangles. Most writers are very bad at geometry and forget that all points in a triangle need to be connected. It's a rather frustrating oversight."

He was studying her again. His curious eyes were brushing over every scrape and bruise.

"And what are you proposing as a compromise?" he asked carefully.

She blinked slowly and deliberately and lifted the rose to her nose.

"What I propose," she said, drawing out her answer to prologue his uncertainty, "is hardly a compromise."

He looked away again, studying her brace.

"Oh?"

"Mr Cobblepot, I was willing to put on a dead woman's face to prove to Ed that I trust him implicitly. I will play matchmaker for you and encourage Ed's affection."

"And in return?"

He still wasn't looking at her face.

"I think it's obvious what I want in return."

His lips drew tight and he bounced subtly on his heels. "Obviously."

"And the satisfaction of bringing love to a lonely soul."

This time he did look back at her and something in his face looked ready to crack.

"Who knows, maybe we'll learn some geometry, too," she finished.

 

They stood in awkward silence for so long, that her ears were beginning to ring.

The gentle rap on the door frame startled both of them.

If Ed was surprised to see Oswald there, he didn't show it.

"So this is why you left early," he observed.

He took in the flower, again lying on her breast, and frowned slightly.

"Am I interrupting?"

"We were just discussing future dinner plans," she assured him, lifting the flower towards the vase with the ones from Ed. "Can you put this in water?"

 

**Author's Note:**

> She thinks Othello/Desdemona and Romeo/Juliet are models worth pursuing. If she weren't already dating Ed, she'd be their biggest shipper. 
> 
> A yellow rose can be either an offer of friendship or a statement of jealousy.


End file.
